


No Sound

by drarryangels



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Auror Harry Potter, Domestic, Draco Malfoy's Birthday, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Husbands, Light Angst, Light Smut, M/M, Smut, angst if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24588556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drarryangels/pseuds/drarryangels
Summary: There’s no sound in the room. No sound except for the summer rain pounding on the window, Draco’s owl scratching at the latch on his cage, the hush of the curtain hems over the wooden floorboards, the clink of the wind chimes Harry hung up two summers ago in the left corner of the kitchen, above the compost pail. No sound aside from Draco’s own breathing, alone.Or: It's Draco's birthday, and Harry's away on a mission.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 177





	No Sound

There’s no sound in the room. No sound except for the summer rain pounding on the window, Draco’s owl scratching at the latch on his cage, the hush of the curtain hems over the wooden floorboards, the clink of the wind chimes Harry hung up two summers ago in the left corner of the kitchen, above the compost pail. No sound aside from Draco’s own breathing, alone. 

Draco heaves a great breath and rolls onto his side. He’s known it would be like this, this year. 

“ _Draco, I-”_

_“No, no. It’s okay.”  
_

_Harry drops his head in his hands and groans. “I’m so sorry. So sorry-”_

_“No, really-”  
_

_“I told them it was your birthday-”  
_

_“It’s fine. The Aurors never take much stock in birthdays anyway-”  
_

_“I don’t want to miss-”  
_

_“No,”Draco says. He puts his hand over Harry’s mouth. “Stop.” He pulls his hand away slowly. “Stop doing this to yourself. It’s okay. I’ve spent plenty of birthdays alone.” That isn’t the right thing to say; Harry’s eyebrows come together in the middle, and Draco corrects himself. “Plenty of birthdays without you.”  
_

_That doesn’t help either. Harry’s bottom lip drops, and his eyes squint up the way they always do right before he cries._

_Draco shakes his head. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”_

_Harry takes hold of Draco’s hand, resting over Harry’s chin after moving it from his mouth. He tugs Draco’s hand, tangling their fingers together on the way._

_“I want to be here.” Harry’s voice breaks.  
_

_Draco’s face falls. “Oh, baby.”_

_There’s no point in trying to be okay for Harry, trying to pretend that Harry’s absences don’t break Draco’s heart every time he goes. Harry knows._

_Harry drops onto the couch and pulls Draco down with him. “I’m so sorry,” Harry says, dragging his fingers slowly through the sleepy tangles of Draco’s hair. “You shouldn’t be comforting me. I’ll be missing_ your _birthday.”_

_Draco takes Harry’s face in his hands and pulls Harry’s forehead to his own. “I love you.” He puts one leg over Harry’s hips and shifts to straddle him. “It’s only one birthday.”_

Even if it is only one birthday, Draco is still alone, and he misses Harry. 

He rolls over again. This side of the bed is no warmer, no cooler than the other. Neither side has Harry on it, and so the rolling is a moot point. 

All Draco wants right now, in the dim hours of the morning before the sun has risen on his birthday, is to roll over. Roll over and find Harry on the other side of the bed, bare skin and a big smile and lying right next to Draco where he can touch. Draco rolls over again. 

Harry will be back. This mission, whatever it’s for, is scheduled to last three weeks. This is the second week, and the end of the second week at that. It won’t be long until Harry is home again. 

Draco sighs and rolls over again, this time lying on his back to stare up at the ceiling. There are stars pasted up there. Some of them are stuck up with magic, and others with a stupid putty that Harry insists could hold a fruit fly away from a peach. They’re plastic, and silly looking, and they make Draco cry because they make him think of Harry. The Draco constellation is up there, in the far corner. Draco told Harry not to put it up, but Harry did it anyway, and Draco couldn’t get it down. 

“ _I told you. Could hold a fruit fly away from a peach.”_

_“Shut up.”  
_

Now, in moments like this, when Harry’s gone, Draco doesn’t want those silly plastic stars and Harry’s lopsided rendition of the constellation that marks Draco’s namesake to be gone. He likes them right where they are. 

Just as Draco rolls over for the umpteenth time that morning, the front door slams open and shut. 

Draco sits upright in bed, his hands planted in the mattress under him. 

Boots hit the floor, the sound of the hall closet opening and something heavy clunking into the bottom of it. The boots, probably. The footsteps, quieter now (without the boots), start down the hallway. Draco doesn’t move. 

The bedroom door opens and a dark figure backs into it and then carefully pushes the door close behind him. 

Draco would scream if the shape of the figure wasn’t so intimately familiar to him. 

“Harry?” Draco whispers into the darkness. 

The figure whirls around. “Draco? Why are you awake?”

“Can’t sleep without you.”

The figure doesn’t answer. He moves closer and weight dips down on the edge of the bed. A hand comes up and smooths through the tufts and tangles of Draco’s hair. He whispers, “I made it back in time.”

“For what?” Draco can hardly breathe. The scent of lemons and laundry detergent are filling his senses, and he can think of little else. 

“Your birthday, love.”

“Oh, right.”

Harry laughs a little and scoots farther up the bed. Draco is still frozen in his sitting position. 

“You’re not supposed to be back yet,” Draco says. 

Harry’s outline shifts and bends. It takes Draco a moment to realize that he’s taking off his clothes. It is this thought that unfreezes Draco, and allows him to move again. 

He crawls through the duvet to where Harry is sitting on the edge. Harry’s robes are already off, so Draco pushes his hands under the hem of Harry’s shirt and moves his hands up over Harry’s skin, dragging the shirt along and off. Harry laughs and falls back onto the bed, and Draco does the rest. 

Buttons, zippers, the buckles of the wand holster over Harry’s thigh. And then it’s just Harry and skin and his boxers, and Draco sighs and smiles into his neck. 

“Better?” Harry says. 

“Much.”

They find their way back up the bed together, and Harry’s work clothes find their way onto the floor. 

Later, Draco says, “How did you get here? I thought the mission was supposed to go until the end of next week.”

Harry kisses under Draco’s jaw. “It was.”

“So?”

“So I finished the mission faster.” Harry opens his mouth into the crook of Draco’s neck. 

Draco’s head drops back. “Hm.”

“Eloquent,” Harry says as he bites down over Draco’s collarbone. 

“Git.”

There’s no sound in the room. No sound except for the heavy exhales of air coming from Draco’s mouth, the slide of Harry’s lips moving over Draco’s shoulder, the rustle of sheets under their movement. No sound aside from their breathing, at odds and mingled and together. 

No sound, then, “I love you.”

“Happy birthday, Draco.”


End file.
